Prototype Floyd
by eclecticspaz
Summary: Twenty years before he encountered the orphan sisterhood that would change his life, criminal mastermind Gru was doting over a different kind of parenthood; caring for a certain sinister GMO. Rated T for some violence, language and colorful situations/themes.
1. Chapter 1

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Prototype Floyd

A Despicable Me Fanfic

Twenty years before he encountered the orphan sisterhood that would change his life, criminal mastermind Gru was doting over a different kind of parenthood; caring for a certain sinister GMO.

Rated T for some violence, language and colorful situations/themes.

Introduction:

Welp, this is my attempt at a minion-genesis story. Yes, I'm sticking with the old speculation that the minions are GMOs rather than the immortals that the upcoming 2014 movie is painting them up to be. Don't ask me why but I have some neurotic hang-ups about them being immortal/timeless/whatever you call it.

I hope that Gru doesn't seem too OOC with his swearing, but I figured a younger, less affluent and minionless Gru would have a lot less accountability with his words (his Mom probably being the biggest force to answer to). I also tried to back story in his relationship with Nefario, and why a more experienced evil engineer (w/a doctorate, no less!) would take the subordinate role in this partnership. I also apologize if he comes off as too parental in later chapters.

Due to the length of this writing, I will not be phonetically spelling out Eastern European accents. Nope, I ain't touching the British ones, either.

WARNING WARNING OC AHEAD _ONE_ VERY _SHORT LIVED_ OC WARNING WARNING

Legal caca: DM characters are Universal property, Gentech belongs to Gentech, Jurassic Park is c. 1990 Alfred A. Knopf and the estate of Michael Crichton, Pink Floyd, _Dark Side of the Moon_ is c. 1973 Pink Floyd and Harvest, Capitol Records. Everything else came out of yours truly. Just, remind me if I've overlooked, something, 'kay?

Chapter One: On the run.

Reno, Nevada, October 4th, 1990

Felonious Gru was out of his element. That was the euphonized version of it, anyway. He was lying low after a botched heist in San Francisco, nursing a broken leg that he had the honor of setting himself. The cast he made was a crude splint bound in duct tape, the morphine that he took to actually set the fracture was casting a dull, warm haze over his line of vision, but the pain was still present enough to give him a certain sobriety. At least he didn't take too much to function through it. His throat was still raw from the screams when he first heard that sickening crack and his lower leg shot out from under his knee. Still, he was impressed at how fast he could hop on one leg and how long he was able to keep it up before throwing himself into the old Mustang that he bought from a seedy used lot just for this heist. Gru was also impressed at how he was able to brake and accelerate with his left leg, and how his adrenaline allowed him to override the agony and get some evasive miles between the premises and himself.

While his right leg tore away at his nervous system, he was able to drive far enough to find a secluded spot to take the first dose and set it. The pain momentarily pushed him over the edge of consciousness and his first binding was flimsy, but it held until he was able to get out of California. He barely managed to pull his pant leg over the splint to hide the crude workmanship as he hobbled on a makeshift crutch to the motel's lobby. The makeup pallet he had under his coat covered up the colors and lines of distress on his face. All he had to do at that point was put on a poker face that belied his injury, or at least the recentness of it. Inside this filthy, pungent room, he bound it again and noted on the bruising and swelling that was setting in. Gru tried to remind himself that he at least had been spared a compound fracture and he was finally able to prop his leg up.

Muttering fatigued curses under his breath, he turned on the TV and tried to relax on a smelly, stained bed with crusty covers. The pixels that glowed from the screen seemed brighter and more prominent, even as he watched it from across the room. The audio seemed muddled as well and came in waves that seemed to rise and ebb in volume. He thought bitterly about the heist, not only how he screwed it up, but how stupid it was to go it alone (his disposition with his fellow villains didn't allow him to come into business partners easily) and how the scheme itself was out of his league.

Gru was a rocket builder; he engineered bombs and other projectile weapons. He didn't tweak at organic swabs in a Petri dish or breed mutant creatures. Biology just wasn't his shtick. The heist was supposed to be hustling operation, simply a stepping stone so he could sell his acquired target so he could apply the capital towards something more his forte. But that didn't happen. He couldn't get to the sample before he had to get out. He knew he had been spotted, but he wasn't sure if he had been identified, not that it mattered as far as law enforcement was concerned. The facility looked like an offshoot of Gentech, but that was just a front. It was venturing down roads that no pharmaceutical or military lab dared yet to tread. If he was identified, the cops would be the least of his worries. That offshoot investment bank of the Lehman Brothers that he had heard about through the villain grapevine was starting to sound very appealing.

Despite the pain that was bobbing into his consciousness like a buoyant chainsaw, sleep was threatening to pull him into the filthy mattress. He took a moment to pull the canister from the holster under his jacket. He had grabbed it as he ran out; knowing he had failed to steal what he was really after. It was a desperate grasp at a consolation prize. The cryptic markings told him very little, the most coherent labeling read: Multicelluar GMO Embryonic Prototype 001.

Embryonic. So it was probably still alive, which explained the battery pack built into it that vibrated and hummed softly in his hands. With his connections, it wouldn't be impossible to engineer a life support for the contents before the batteries ran out. He tried to carve this note into his mind before his eyes caved into exhaustion and his consciousness slipped into the night.

When the pain regained its momentum and shook him awake, he stared blankly at the TV that was still on before crawling across the dirty floor to the bathroom to take the most brutal piss of his life. There was no way he was going to stand over the rust stained toilet, so he straddled the rim of the bathtub with his bad leg resting on the edge and tried to aim for the center of the tub. He growled darkly as a few drops fell on his pants, but he knew an attempt to clean up in this dive would be worse than futile. Relative invisibility in these backwoods rarely came with five-star accommodations.

On his way out he looked in the speckled mirror. The makeup that he never washed off was smudging and highlighting his signs of stress rather than covering up. To complete the image, his dark brown hair was greasy and disheveled, making his aggressively receding hairline all the more obvious. The week before, he had just turned thirty. If his father was any indication, longevity would not be in his card deck. He slouched and sighed with resignation. Crawling back to the bed, Gru looked at the time on the nightstand; seven-thirty. That was late enough for someone on the lam, after another round of painkillers, of course. Before he left, he pulled out his pager and sent a message to an acquaintance that he had just made a few days before.

Yes, I like to think that Gru is a serious badass who can keep a straight face with a broken leg, I'm not sorry! I've been working on and off with this fic for a few months, and I know how it will end, but I'm still struggling with the middle, so if you wanna see this eventually completed, give me a few feedback bones, a'right?


	2. Chapter 2

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Chapter Two: Healing and Gestation

Gru was in a comparatively better state. He was back in Los Alamos in the two-flat he was renting for his current operations, had a proper cast on that was propped up in his easy chair, and the new round of pain medication was far less cognitively invasive and he had more energy. "No, I have no idea what it is," he spoke into a battery phone with his slick East European accent. "No, I told you, I fucked that up, had to get out of there pronto and there was no fire escape, so I jumped." A muddled comment cracked from the other end of the line. He grimaced and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I dunno why I grabbed it, but I'd like to find out what it is."

The voice lowered and took on an instructive tone. Gru was ready, with a notebook and a pencil, he jotted it down. "Where could I get that?" he would occasionally interrupt. When he felt he had enough information, the clock above the TV read an hour after the start of the call. Gru wasn't known for his patience, but the canister that was still running on its own power had possessed his imagination. After losing a lucrative heist, he couldn't help but wonder if it was useful to his interests, or if he could make it so. "Yes, I think I got it all," he reassured his caller. "This isn't exactly my specialty, but with things how they are I'm not about to leave a stone unturned." The caller took on an inquisitive tone. "Yes, I could show it to you," Gru said with unusual trust, "you might even get to fine-tune it, in case I missed something." The caller seemed satisfied and was ready to end the phone session. "Yes, yes," Gru replied, "It's been good doing business with you, looking forward to it, Doctor Nefario." He hung up, feeling energized despite the medication and his injury.

Gru quickly whipped out a blueprint of the life support device based off of the notes, and assembled it as the materials were made available. Some things he already had, some of it was hired in, and some parts were delivered by his new acquaintance. The two men worked against the clock fabricating the device before the canister's own life support was drained of its power. Not knowing how big the sample would grow, they used a cylinder tank that was the size of a water cooler. The system wasn't too big to run off of the two-flat's power feed, and Gru made a note of wiring up some car batteries for back up. "So, Doctor," Gru asked, "are you proficient with this bio tech stuff?"

"No," the older man with wispy, silver hair replied casually, "more of a hobby, I'm really more in your league, ballistics, fabrication, -oh, I also do robotics."

"Ah," Gru replied. "Sooo, you design your own, too?"

"I do," Nefario said tentatively, "but I've found that I get more out of taking an existing plan and figuring out how to make it work. Like how some folks get a rise out of puzzles, if a designer wanted to do something but fell short of it on the blueprint, I like troubleshooting what was missed."

"Ha!" Gru barked humorously. "I'm just the opposite; I get so frustrated when I get a speed bump like that. Sure, I can figure them out most of the time, but oh-ho, I get pissy."

"Common designer's fault," Nefario muttered flatly. "It's the world in our heads versus the world out there," he made an outward sweeping gesture with his left arm. "Classroom versus field, what looks good on paper and what looks good in action."

"Ugh, tell me about it," Gru painfully remembered his heist. "Is that why you've muscled in on most of the assembly here?"

"You're a good designer, Gru," Nefario politely critiqued, "but yes, I've had to administer some quality control, to put it nicely." He paused. "But,..you're still young. Right now you're just clever, but stick around long enough, the wisdom will creep in and find you, then you'll be old like me." He finished with a grin. Gru still wasn't used to this kind of personal insight, but he was still able to give the man's talking point a chuckle of assent.

After Nefario left, Gru stared at the tank ambiently lit by the indicator lights. The embryo was the size of a pea, it had a stereotypical embryo shape, and it already had primitive eyes and nub-like appendages. What struck Gru the most was its weird color, a yellow; semi opaque with the intensity of a fish that you might find in the Great Barrier Reef, or a luxury aquarium. The creature was a chordate, but what? A fish? A quadruped? Something more humanoid? If things went well, he would find out soon enough. With the help of the office stool, Gru was able to clean up after the assembly and put his tools away. Not long after he finished the phone rang again. He picked it up to check the caller ID on the small gray screen.

GRU, MARLENA

Perfect. What better way to wrap up a day's work than a generous dose of motherly ball-busting?

"Hello, Mom," he groaned into the receiver, wishing that last dose of pain medication was an elephant tranquilizer.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3: "Hatching"

It took thirty weeks, but the embryo had grown into something much larger than a human fetus, it had to be more than twenty inches in length and looked to be packing at least 20 pounds. The limbs had developed, but were still small, especially the lower ones that stuck out from the pelvis. It seemed endowed with male genitalia, however very, _very_ modestly. Peculiar, bulbous digits protruded from the 'hands and feet' in threes. They reminded Gru of the feet of a gecko lizard. The eyes were large and round and unnaturally close together and were shrouded under thick eyelids. The body's contour wasn't much different from the cylinder it was suspended in, Gru couldn't even make out a distinct head. Atop all this, it still had that weird 'Big Bird' yellow, now only more opaque.

_What the hell would they do with something like this? What __**could**__ it do?_ Gru wondered, the most useful thing he could think of was a human analog for Frankenstein experiments, like poisoning, injuring or infecting with nasty pathogens. Then again, neither he nor Nefario knew when it was supposed to finish its cycle, or if it even had any business outside of the incubation tank. A week later while he was out acquiring material for another war head it happened.

Gru came home to a broken tank and the room stank of the incubation fluid. At first he thought someone had broken in and destroyed it deliberately, until he ruled out any signs of entry, and noticed that a lone trail of the fluid led away from the scene and into his bedroom. He shuddered a little, the gestation seemed to have been a success, but what he gotten himself into? The thing was strong enough to break out of its own tank and had the cognition to move about, like that stupid dinosaur novel by that Crichton guy that Gru read while his leg was healing. Only this was even dumber, this wasn't a tycoon who ran a park on a skeleton crew, this was a dumb shit thief growing who knows what in his two-flat.

When he convinced himself that the mystery organism wouldn't be interested in tearing his face off, or laying eggs or whatever in his internal organs, he quietly tiptoed to the entranceway and listened. The lights were out, and the only utility running in the room was his electric alarm clock, which glowed and hummed faintly. Gru held his breath and listened harder, trying to hear over his heart rate picking up and his core shaking ever so slightly. He has rewarded with a vermin-like rustle from under the bed, which made his heart race a little more.

"Ah…" he decided to break the silence, at the same moment he heard something akin to a gasp and another rustle. Finally he was able to hear breathing, and he noticed the smell again. "….hell-ohhh?" he tried to continue. The breathing was louder and there was a squeaky grunt. ""So'kay, I don't bite," Gru was now sure the thing could hear him, and he hoped he sounded non-threatening enough to be spared an attack, whatever a stubby-limbed, humanoid, yellow cylinder could dish out at him. "You can come on out, little guy…" Gru cooed as he finally got the nerve to approach the bed, his footfalls pounded in his ears.

He stopped to bend over and lift the bed skirt, and a yellow streak shot out and wrapped around his shin like a python in full strike. He screamed as he stumbled out of the room with the weight writhing around his lower leg. Gru vaguely realized that he had backed into the front room in his panic and over his flailing and yelling was able to notice the couch behind him. The man instinctively threw himself backwards into the upholstery, attempting to gain some leverage. He was about to strike at the thing that he couldn't kick away until a pair of strangely familiar eyes locked into his.

The two olive green irises with large dark pupils suggested neither fear nor animosity. They seemed amiably curious as they darted about his features. The thin and short limbs were still wrapped taught around his shin, and while the nerves in his leg threatened to numb he could feel the tiny body twitch and settle around him, and the gentle heat that it gave off. After recovering from the shock of the moment, Gru began to simply feel awkward. His leg was officially starting to numb and the creature was starting to stray its stare from him. "Um…" he broke the silence again, hoping the thing would lessen its grip.

"Um,…" it returned its eyes to him and replied, Gru felt the vibration of the vocalization on his leg.

"Can you…let go?" Gru pleaded as gently as he could, his voice a subtle sing-song tone. He timidly shook his leg to illustrate his request. The creature regarded him blankly at first, and then lit up with realization before sliding down. It hit the floor in a sitting position with a mild plop before looking up again; it looked like it was smiling, and it already had a set of titanium white teeth to show for it. "Ah…yesss," Gru hoped the smile he returned would be read as such. "Thank you…" he trailed off, feeling even more awkward. He wasn't really sure how to regard the little thing. It was blessed with some kind of hyper intelligence, but what was it, a few hours old?

After it had decided to end the staring contest, it took to Gru's shin again, but this time it only tugged softly at his pant leg. "Nice to meet you too," Gru mumbled numbly as his space was re-invaded. Then the thing hiked up his pant to pull at his sock and tweak at the hairs on his shin. "Okay, this is getting weird now," the man protested. The touch wasn't slimy as Gru thought it would be from the fluid, though the earthy, semi-sweet smell still hung in the air. "Ow!" he yelped as the probing digits relieved some of his hair follicles with a sharp tug. "Don't…do that.." he glared over his knees momentarily, but stopped when the saw the tiny figure scrunch up submissively, the eyes dripping with guilt.

"Forget about it," Gru tried to sound reassuring, and cautiously stood up before making his way to the bathroom. He grabbed some towels from the drawer. His new guest was still in front of the couch, staring up like a little lost lamb. "Here," he dropped the towels before it. "I dunno what kind of business you'll be doing, but not on the furniture or the rugs." Gru had no idea how to get to that scenario. Was this thing really going to allow him to tie these on like a diaper? "Speaking of that…" he thought aloud.

In the kitchen he filled a tumbler with tap water, then switched it to a bowl, thinking it would be easier for his inexperienced guest. "Maybe you're dehydrated?" he returned and set it down quietly. "You'll probably be eating, too, but you'll have to make that call, I have no idea what would be suitable." After staring up again, it turned its attention to the container. Three padded digits pawed at the water's surface like a cat until enough water dripped off a fingertip. After some sniffing with a pair of pinhole nostrils, his guest got enough confidence to take it to his lips. He eventually drank from the bowl, but instead of fumbling with the vessel itself he simply scooped the drops in his hand.

The little fellow was a quick learner; Gru had to give him that. Obviously, children didn't learn this fast, though it was still uncertain how much he would absorb, and what he couldn't. Gru called Nefario, who couldn't come in until the next day, not that Gru felt he wasn't in control of this situation. Later he was able to convince his new companion to try out the bathtub. As a precaution, no soap was used, but the warm water did subdue the smell significantly. It was also encouraging to see that the creature had taken a liking to the towels. Later at night Gru decided to turn in himself, and when he shifted under the covers, he heard the pitter patter and rustle of a crawl that stopped right under his bed. "Good night," he called out awkwardly, "sleepy time, no funny business, aright?" An indistinct but very shrill vocalization echoed underneath him. How bad could this get? He rolled on his side and closed his eyes.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4: Floyd

The alarm clock was set on the radio dial, which was tuned into the local classic rock station. Gru was already awake for several minutes. He rarely slept too late, but had a habit of setting the alarm just in case, a little something he had picked up from his overbearing mother who was quick to wrath on sleepy boys who lazed in bed too long. When the radio clicked on he flinched slightly, even though this was a long established routine. _Dark Side of the Moon_ was playing, and while Pink Floyd wasn't his first choice on a playlist, it was far from irritating, something more over rated and over played could be on instead, like that fucking horrible _Hotel California. _A nervous chirp came from under his bed, reminding him of yesterday's events. "Oh," Gru snapped to attention. "Good morning to you, we got a visitor coming by later, ya know." He looked at the floor to see the mass of yellow bundled in terry cloth push out from underneath. Its eyes still squinted with sleep as it sat up and yawned. After a few rapid blinks, it craned its head towards the top of Gru's bed, noticing the sound.

"Ah, you don't like?" Gru asked. "I can change it or turn it o-" The creature popped out of his cocoon of towels and climbed up the bed covers like a spider monkey on crack. He stopped in front of the alarm clock on the shelved bed post briefly to study the plastic form and lit up counter before taking it in his bulbous hands. First he held it gently and rolled it in his grip until he found the speaker which he held up to the side of his head, where a simple bore hole suggested an ear. Then he sniffed and shook it lightly, and noted the power cord leading away down the back of the bedpost and into the wall. He returned to the clock itself, long enough to find the tuner and the volume. This startled him, but to Gru's intrigue, only briefly. He returned his attention to the power cord and followed it, stuffing himself head first down the back of the bedpost. His tiny form bumped dully against the wall and Gru was getting a view of something he was in no mood to see.

"A'rite, that's enough!" the man's outburst sounded more distressed than he wanted it to. "No money-crotch shots! You gonna do that, I'm gonna have to find some pants that fit you." He turned his head away and shuddered, the image still burned in his mind's eye. The creature recovered from this interruption and studied him cautiously, but was lured back to the clock radio. Gru noticed this, "That's music," he informed, "there's a lot of that stuff on the radio." The frequency was now on a classical station, and his guest listened intently to the difference in tone. Gru watched him for a few seconds before saying; "I'll make some food, you can pick out whatever you think you'll like, then we gotta get ready for the Doctor."

Gru stomped around the flat, waving a pair of very small pants that he had picked up at a local department store before his acquaintance arrived. The little yellow figure bobbed around the floor and frantically dodged his assailant. "We can't really blame him, can we?" Nefario commented with a smirk. "This is his last chance to be free."

"Floyd!" the younger man yelled. "Come back here, you little bastard!"

"Floyd?" Nefario queried. "Where'd you pick that one up?"

"Radio, long story," Gru huffed with the chase. There was no point in getting Floyd more agitated, so he gave up and walked over and took his place across from Nefario at the kitchen table. "This, this is happening so fast, before I can even wonder whether something will hurt him, he's in it."

"Has anything hurt him yet?"

"So far, no," Gru answered. "He found out about the electric outlets right away, but he seemed more surprised than anything. I'm still waiting on that bar of soap he ate, though."

"It's still early," Nefario speculated, "though he should be showing some discomfort at this point."

"Well, he's been taking some pretty hard falls, he likes to climb. Sure, he complains, yells, cries, all that," Gru tapped on the table with each word for emphasis. "- but I have yet to find a bruise, cut or scrape on him."

"Maybe he _is_ a guinea pig."

"Lot of free will and energy to put into a guinea pig. You'd figure I'd have these on him by now," Gru shook the blue denim toddler overalls in his hand.

"Hello again," the older man looked over Gru's shoulder and smiled with a wave. Floyd had just noticed that Gru had shifted his attention to the new visitor. Floyd waved back nervously and his bare feet meekly tiptoed towards the two. His gate was much smoother than Gru remembered from yesterday.

"Huh-low," he folded his hands in front of him and shot his father-figure a worried look.

Gru groaned and rolled his eyes at the pitiful face. "Yes, Floyd, glad you finally decided to join us." He turned to the Doctor. "You know, with all this going on, I haven't even offered you anything. Beer? Wine? Perrier? I even picked up some juice for this one earlier," he gestured to Floyd.

"Joose?" Floyd lit up, remembering the drink he was given earlier.

Nefario noticed this and smiled. "Juice actually sounds lovely."

"If it's what you want," Gru shrugged. "You don't have to pander to him, you know."

"Pander, piffle," his other guest scoffed. "He just needs a little sense of belonging; he might even get comfortable enough to try those britches on," he implied his suggestion with a wink under thick, dark glasses.

"Fine, fine," Gru resigned. "Floyd," a third chair squeaked its legs on the tiled floor as he pulled it out between them. "have a seat, we're-" Floyd plopped into the chair with a catapulted leap. The two froze momentarily. "You see? Stubby little limbs and he jumps like a flea." Gru pointed out, on the verge of bragging. While the younger villain poured the rounds, Floyd curiously pulled the overalls off the table and held them in front of him. He rubbed his thumbs over the fabric and stared into the weave like he was trying to bore a hole into it with his eyes. Nefario gestured to Gru while he approached with the glasses. "The idea was to put them on you," Gru picked up on the scene playing out. "So you're not flashing everyone all the time."

"Maybe he needs a demonstration from you," Nefario snorted.

"Demonstra-" Gru shuddered at the enormity of the 'suggestion'. "Oh, Hell, no!" Nefario roared with laughter, leaving Floyd very puzzled. "Why can't I just put them on him and be done with it?"

"He doesn't know what you're doing," Nefario quickly calmed and retorted. "He probably wouldn't be so defensive if he knew what it was all about."

Over sips of orange juice (yes, Floyd had come to master the drinking glass) and gentle prodding from the two men, Floyd managed to slip one leg into the garment's sleeve, and after realizing that it didn't take both legs, applied his second limb to the other. Gru pulled the rest of the outfit up over his impossibly narrow shoulders, and for a moment the two congratulated the mutant on his progress. But Floyd was still unfamiliar with his bodily functions, and promptly pissed himself. This left Gru slapping himself in the head and cursing about diapers while Nefario howled with laughter again. Floyd felt a little confused and ashamed at it all.

Nefario helped Gru clean up and reassured the little mutant that it was alright. "I think you may be on to something here, boy." Gru's colleague remarked as he got ready to leave later.

"On to what?" Gru asked tiredly. "A hyperactive, idiot-savant, ugly yellow kid?"

"Think about it, Gru, his learning speed is super human, he seems next to indestructible, he's strong as an ox and he's very subservient, especially to you. Can you imagine an army of Floyds? An army of _minions_?"

"I don't think a horde of Tattoo clones would exactly strike fear in the hearts of my enemies," Gru grumbled. "I'm not even sure Floyd could hurt anyone, not knowingly, at least."

"He doesn't have to know, Ricardo Montalban," the man elbowed teasingly. "All he has to know is that he works for you. Of course," he added tentatively, "neither of us know how far he'll go with this learning curve, or how strong he'll get, or how big he'll grow. Just something to keep a mental note of."

"You think you could replicate Floyd?" Gru asked distractedly.

"I think I could do better with the right amount of tweaking," Nefario asserted. "I think enough randomization could be slipped in to make more individuals rather than clones." Nefario bid the two good night before departing in his motor scooter. Gru had to hold Floyd back from following him out to investigate the vehicle.

"Not yet," he chided, "gotta get you used to disguises,…and more pants," he finished with some tired disdain.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5: Work for Gru

Gru was used to coming home to messes to clean up. Spilled drinks and food, broken glasses, tools and equipment scattered about that were at times broke; it was par for the course. 'Potty' training was brief but chaotic, Floyd mastered his bodily rhythms but had the functions of the toilet and the bath tub mixed up at first, much to Gru's dismay and disgust. When he got those details straight, the next step was to reverse-engineer the plumbing. So Gru was shortly treated to a flooded house. "How could someone who learns so much, so quick be so goddamned stupid?!" His fingernails were cutting into his palms, and he was certain if someone poked him in the head with a pin, the blood would spurt like a geyser. "Get the hell outta my sight so I can try to fix this!" he barked at the tiny cowering figure that retreated under the soggy couch with a squeak. A phone's ringtone echoed over the hiss of the water.

"Hello," he snarled into the receiver without looking at the caller ID. "Oh! Mom! No! I didn't-" he cringed and grimaced at the audio barrage coming from the other end. "No! Mom, it's just-don't come over, I got a situation-no! Don't come over, this is serious!" he was rambling in Russian now. Floyd noticed the linguistic change and peered from underneath the couch curiously, though still a bit frightened. Gru had spoken Russian in front of him before, though it was usually single words or short phrases. "Chyort, Mamulya!" he continued, more flustered and frantic. "I have to shut the fucking water off now! The house is flooding!" Gru swung his head away from the receiver like he had been shot. "Gotta go **now**, Mom!" he shouted, hanging up. He slammed the phone on a counter top and stormed over to the couch to very roughly pull a surprised and terrified Floyd from underneath.

"Show me what you did, you little shit," the man snarled as he carried the mutant. "and hurry!" Floyd sensed his urgency and was able to figure out that his mentor needed his help more than he needed to punish him, so he quickly calmed and became more attentive. Over the roaring pipes the creature gestured to the ones he had tampered with and within a few minutes and some frantic wrench turns, the water stopped gushing. Both were soaking wet and Gru was still beet red and shaking with anger, but he took a few deep breaths and recovered. "A'right, a'right," he gasped, "no one has to know the plumbing was fine before this happened." He twirled around the room, surveying the damage. "I had to shut the water off, simple as that." He continued to huff and think aloud as Floyd watched him catatonically. "Might have to fake some deterioration on those pipes, but…" his voice trailed off as the wheels continued to turn in his head.

Gru smuggled the most suspicious personal effects into a rented trailer hitch; the weapons, the chemicals and sinister tools and documents. The clean up service would be there in the morning, but there still remained the business of stashing the physical presence of his trade, including the mutant. He found a public storage garage to hide it in, but was unsure what to do with Floyd. As to be expected, his Mother came over anyway. "Thanks for listening, Mom," he moaned. She ignored his sarcasm and glared down at the little figure in overalls clinging to his lower legs in the driveway.

"What the hell is this?" she demanded.

"This is Floyd, Mom. I grew him in a tank my friend helped me build."

"Ugly little monster."

"Well, yes," for once Gru couldn't get defensive about her comment, though Floyd took on a look of hurt.

"Is this why your house flooded?"

"Yes…"

"Well, don't ask me to take it in," she spat.

"Wouldn't expect you to, Mom, I wouldn't wish this on my worst enemy."

"And what is that supposed to mean?" her voice rose apprehensively.

"It means I have to call someone who knows what I've gotten myself into," he sighed and shook his head. He paged Nefario before turning back to her. "I'm afraid to take him to a hotel room, he's gotta stay occupied or this happens," he gestured back towards the house. "This friend of mine might have a solution, at least until the house is fixed."

"You plan on taking this," she swept a hand over the intimidated creature, "this thing back after all that?"

"Yes, sadly," he walked past her stiffly and folded his hands behind his back, Floyd trailed behind him, nervously trying to avoid Marlena's icy stare.

"Good God, boy, whatever for?" the middle aged woman planted both fists into each hip.

"As costly as he's been," Gru lethargically explained, "I'm starting think that Nefario may be right."

"Aggressively curious," Nefario speculated, "and a bit too energetic for his own good, but I wouldn't say stupid."

"I know," Gru back pedaled his last statement, "but it's stupid in context, he's so inexperienced and he dives into things like he's on overdrive."

"Maybe he's hardwired to overcompensate for a short life span?" the older man theorized.

"I haven't seen anything to suggest a 'short life span'," Gru added pointedly. "He doesn't even complain about his falls anymore, though I'm worried about those shallow eye sockets."

"Kind of like a pug, isn't he?" his colleague smiled.

"What?"

"You know, those dogs with the flat faces," Nefario explained.

"Oh," Gru caught up. "Well, yes, and I'm not too comfortable about, how does it go, 'waiting for the ax to fall'?"

"Indeed," the Doctor nodded. "Suppose we do something about it in my shop?"

Gru took measurements of Floyd's face, and the little fellow was strangely cooperative. The younger villain even noted on the contours of his face, and suggested a soft padding that breathed with the skin, like latex foam. Floyd seemed to take to the material without irritation, so the lining was added to some polished steel rims that were riveted to frame two shatter-resistant lenses. A soft but thick leather strap was added with Velcro patches to provide attachment. The two urged him to the try the goggles on, with which he complied with little hesitation. "How do they feel, Floyd?" Gru asked encouragingly. "If they don't feel right we can adjust them."

Floyd peered through the glass contentedly; the outside was treated with an anti-glare coating, so the light was far from overwhelming. He stopped to check his reflection shining on the glass of a storage cabinet in the shop. He stared at it for several moments before turning back to the two men with a faint smile. "You look good, Floyd," Gru smiled back. "Forget what Mom says."

"Doesn't talk much, does he?" Nefario noted. "Seems to listen well enough."

"Oh, he listens alright," Gru nodded. "Multilingual cable shows and short wave radio. When he does talk it's a mashup of all that, I swear I hear him talking Spanish, French and Russian and everything else all at once."

"But he doesn't use that to listen to us, does he?"

"Go figure," Gru shrugged. "I'm not sure he feels it necessary, or if he's just indulging himself."

"A linguist with ADD."

"Yes, in a nutshell."

This time, it was Nefario who called. "What's wrong?" Gru implored. "Did Floyd break something again?"

"No, that has actually slowed down a bit," the older villain replied, "but it_ is _about him, I need to show you something." The cleanup of the house was done and the landlord (and the landlord's insurance company, to wit) was none the wiser. Gru needed a break from moving back in and this call certainly had his attention.

Floyd was ecstatic at Gru's arrival. He ran up to the man and pulled on his pant leg, at which Gru kneeled down and patted the mutant on the back. "Did you grow some?" the aspiring villain asked, noting on Floyd's shorter and tighter overalls. "Will we have to get you bigger clothes?"

"He _has_ grown," Nefario answered, "but that's not why I called you." He craned his head to lead the way down into the workshop. "Remember these?" he showed a pair of blueprints.

"I ought to," Gru looked at his two weapon designs. "Those are my non-lethals." Gru had figured out how to get mace to crystallize into nano-forms akin to dandelion seeds (with a lot more lift), and had drawn up two simple bomb vessels. One deployed the irritant on contact detonation; the other could release via remote control or timer.

"Right," Nefario continued. He led Gru and Floyd over to his workbench. Two parcel sized forms stood under a drop cloth. He pulled the covers away on the assembled prototypes. "This one I assembled myself, Floyd shadowed me mostly, but I allowed him to do some installation, just to get a feel for the tools." Gru studied the casing that was an off-white mixture of sheet metal and PVC casing. "Now the contact shell…" Nefario gave pause for emphasis, "is Floyd's assembly. I'll have you know, there wasn't a lot to correct."

"Ha!" Gru roared with vindication. It startled Floyd and he thought Gru was angry at him again, until he was snatched up by the armpits and twirled around the workroom like a dancing partner. "I was beginning to think as much, Doctor!" he laughed with a smile that glowed beneath Floyd. "You were right, you were right, he's a miracle, he's a- prodigal son!" Floyd smiled back and he was quickly lowered back to the floor.

"Of course, neither has been officially tested," the Doctor added cautiously.

"Oh, these will be tested," Gru grinned wickedly, kneading his hands with a sinister flair that made Nefario light up. Floyd couldn't quite make out what Gru was expressing, but he sensed the enthusiasm and tried his best to join in. "And," Gru shot up his index finger and raised his voice with excitement. "I know exactly the job for them when it's done." He looked down at Floyd; the wickedness in his smile had fallen away. "Of course, you are going to need some field training for this one, my dear boy." An impish chortle escaped his throat as he folded his arms.


	6. Chapter 6

Well, I didn't know how to explain the aftermath of Gru and Floyd's maiden heist, so I wrote it as a 3rd person abstract version of a police report/newspaper article. If anyone has a better idea to go about this, I'm all ears.

Panakeias, you are much to kind, but a thousand thanks all the same. J The rest of you read panakeias' ficcies, especially the Invader Zim one. Dib is dead to me now, there is only Bigheady.

Chapter 6: First Heist

The air was choked with the brown dust. It numbed the skin and burned any orifice it got near. Toxicology results confirmed it as mace with a binding agent that remained unidentified, but was suspected to be benign by itself. It took several hours for the particles to settle, the slightest air current would send the nano-debris airborne again. Two shells inside the remains of two slot machines bore witness to the attack, they seemed designed to simply fall apart on prompt, while a fan and a pump did the dirty work of sending the material into the air. Security footage showed that the objects were brought into the premises by what looked like casino employees, dressed in house uniform, rolling in on hand trucks what looked like new slot machines. The individuals were later identified as legitimate employees, who upon questioning, seemed to have been duped by someone claiming to be delivering the items. Descriptions of this delivery person were sketchy at best, and this individual was probably in disguise.

When the Trojan horses were wheeled in place and installed, the security cameras and phone lines immediately went down. Those who weren't blinded by their own tears right away reported two masked figures, one tall, assumedly male and barrel-chested, the other under one meter in height. Whether this person was male or female, child or adult with dwarfism was undetermined. Both individuals seemed armed, but the short one was observed swinging a crowbar.

The two were able to locate one of the safes and entered it with some sort of electronic decoding device that self destructed after fulfilling its purpose. The contents, more than $900K were stolen. A getaway vehicle for the perps was spotted, but other vehicles matching the description had yet to be reported.

"So how are you two holding up?" Nefario asked over his shoulder.

"We're good," Gru answered with a bit of relish, still coming off of his adrenaline rush. "Floyd!" he barked. "I told you, don't put that on again-" His accomplice began to moan at the irritation on his skin. "Well, we're not stopping to wash that off, and put it down! We can't have that blowing around in here."

"It's a good thing he likes those goggles," the Doctor mused.

"Too bad I don't have a pair," Gru covered an eye. "Chyort, vozmi!"

"You'll be alright?"

"I've had worse," he dismissed his predicament with wet eyes.

"There's a first aid kit under the seat with some eye wash," Nefario offered.

"Thanks," Gru grunted painfully. Floyd volunteered going underneath, and pulled out the small, white plastic box. While the two treated one another, Nefario tuned to the local news station and the police radio. The frequencies rattled with reports of the casino bomb attack and robbery.

"You two made 'breaking'," the doctor grinned. "That should be worth something there."

"We'll see what it's worth when we count that haul," some fluid ran out the corner of Gru's eye and down his face. Floyd looked at him thoughtfully as the liquid continued to drip down to his shirt.

"Oh-kayy?" the little mutant asked. Gru couldn't help but smile at him reassuringly and nod.

"Oh, come now," Nefario feigned reprimand with a smirk. "Everything 's about money with you young people."

"Damn straight," Gru returned, leaning back in his seat. "Though this guy made me proud, he didn't have to shatter that guard's shins, but damn, wish I had a video camera. Didn't know you had it in you, buddy!" He nudged his tiny accomplice with praise. Floyd blushed lightly; he seemed satisfied with his boss's condition and the large hand now cupped around his undefined shoulder. He leaned against the large man before closing his eyes and nodding off. "Little guy's wiped out," Gru commented aloud.

"Eh?" Nefario strained to hear the comment over the two radios. Gru silently shushed him coyly with his index finger in the rear view mirror. "Oh," the doctor noted with a smile. "He's sure earned it."

The two men quietly listened to the strained voices in the static as more freeway pavement rolled in front of them. The rasp of Floyd's steady breathing was the only additional noise in the cabin. The smile on Gru's face had not been this big in a long time. Things were starting to look up again, he had found a business partner that seemed very compatible and the tiny being next to him that had caused him so much grief was starting to feel a lot like pay dirt.

He thought about what the Doctor had said earlier about replication, and while the gains of such an endeavor seemed much more concrete now, the financial means kept the idea in fanciful speculation, fresh heist or no. He had to remind himself that Floyd showed promise, but that was all. As determined and aggressive as this thirty year old was, he had a history of being monetarily clumsy. He didn't have any expensive habits, and was able to procure money rather easily, but his fiscal shortcomings that came from building and capering consistently threatened to put him in the poorhouse. He knew better than to ask his mother for money, not that she got a lot from Robert's 'pension'.

Maybe this man in front of him could also help him with this dilemma. He seemed like the wise, pragmatic type despite his interest in villainy. Everything that Gru learned after his father's passing came from either the classroom or on the street, and financial security rarely came up in the lesson. He didn't want Nefario to be a mentor so much as an advisor, and the old coot was not stingy with his advice, which had been consistently sound. Maybe with the right feedback, support and discipline Gru could finally claw his way out of this cat burgling rut and maybe, just maybe, become the real goddamn super villain he wanted to be. One that maybe, on a half chance in Hell, Marlena would notice.

-Yeppers, more of my character pet theories. Nefario is shown here as wiser than Gru, but I still think there's room for him to be socially inept, so it would still be feasible for him to make the grievious errors (ahem, plot devices) that are in the movies.

Gru is a brilliant guy, but I think he's a schmuck with money. His debts to the bank are metaphoric of the 2008-2009 banking crises, but he seems like the kind of guy who would have this as an ongoing problem regardless. It's Nefario who reminds him that the numbers for the moon heist can't be crunched, and his jam production line seems to be cranking out product before it even makes it out of testing.

I have no idea what Marlena would be getting from Robert, or what his line of work would have been. But the gal didn't seem to have a job in Gru's flashbacks, so I assume that she and little Felonious were on some fixed income.

Next: Antagonists' exposition. Our bad guys get some bad guys. Whooo!


	7. Chapter 7

We'll, I'm back. I apologize for the muddling between the actual story and my comments (and time/scene shifts), but uploading from a doc is still a little complicated for me. I use cut and paste, which looks good in the document manager, but gets all messily compressed after upload. I'd like to edit in some changes, but I don't want wipe out the reviewers' input.

Yes, I need to spend some time on the forums for some pointers, but my free time is a little tight at the moment.

Anyway, here's the latest helping:

Chapter 8: Suspect

"Mister Minaur, have you seen this broadcast?" the head of his security intelligence pointed to a monitor screen that was playing a tape.

"That casino getting bombed?" a medium built man in a three piece suit asked. "It's all over the news."

"Yes, but have you seen the footage they released?"

There was a pause. "No, I've only been hearing the story ad nauseam."

"You may find this interesting, then." The portly man egged his superior. He scrubbed through the news story itself, which was talking anchor heads and tacky slate graphics. With a hit of the back arrow of the remote, horizontal lines on the screen ground the sequence back to the blurry, black and white security footage. "There," he pointed on the tube screen with a ballpoint pen. Minaur leaned in and squinted at the indistinct image. "The story said they lost their cameras inside, but this looks like it was a lobby cam, just before it went down, watch through the glass doors…"

Through the sliding doors on the fuzzy screen, coming up from the parking lot, two blurry figures ejected from what appeared to be a composite vehicle. One was very short and bobbed up and down on tiny limbs, the other was a large, top heavy man with a tight gait, and both seemed to be brandishing weapons of some kind. "Peck, this doesn't tell me anything," the boss scoffed.

"Remember our little visitor all those months ago?"

"Of course, but our footage of him isn't any-" his subordinate turned on the monitor across from it, the comparison tape rolled instantly. His mouth slacked open just before he finished his sentence; "..better." The silhouette on the other tape mimicked the figure's walk perfectly as it sneaked down a dim corridor. "Oh my God." The three words rolled out of him in a slow, numbed monotone before he caught himself and recovered. "So he's our man," he cross-examined himself and his subordinate with crossed arms. "We still can't identify him, unless the news outlet has more footage that didn't make air."

"Maybe," Peck rolled the remote in his palm. "May not even be necessary, this looks like someone starting on a roll. A guy like that can get sloppy and cocky, he's even slipped up twice already." He gestured with his hands at the two screens.

His superior grunted with a smirk. "And what about the one with him?"

"Well," he fidgeted, "my hypothesis is pure speculation, sir."

"Speculation of what?" Minaur cocked an eyebrow.

"The specimen that was stolen was a multicellular," he nervously explained. "There isn't much surviving paperwork on it, probably because it was Ellsworth's"

"Leo Ellsworth?" Minaur made a thoughtful pause. "He's been dead over a year."

"Yes, and we've noticed that one of his samples was still in the logs, which is now unaccounted for. There isn't much in the way of documented upkeep. He didn't keep the best notes, he didn't serialize his specimens, he was notorious for destroying his own work, and he didn't fully gestate any of them. He'd trash them as soon as they'd become remotely recognizable, he was the most aggressively experimental engineer here. "

"I remember," his superior huffed with rolled eyes. "I would have put the fucker out to pasture if he wasn't such a demon. His little coke habit was…complicated. His output was massive, and so were his setbacks." Minaur paused again in thought before looking to his associate. "And you're going where with this?"

The other man breathed in and leaned back, realizing how credulous he was about to sound. "I recall he liked tweaking human embryos."

"Yes, among other things," Minaur chuckled with a smirk. "I encouraged him to stick to viruses, they're a lot cheaper and faster to mutate than 'supermen'," he air quoted with a hint of disdain, "though I have to say he pulled off some impressive looking models.." Minaur stopped himself before craning his eyes incredulously towards his associate. "Wait," accusation almost bubbled in his voice, "you think _that_ is it?"

"Pure speculation, sir," Peck emphasized defensively. He pushed his loosely hanging glasses further up the bridge of his nose. "They guy on the tapes, well, he's built like a brick shit house, if you'll pardon me. It shouldn't be hard for him to round up an able bodied henchman for this job, but he picked this one," he pointed at the smaller figure in the jumping freeze frame, "why?"

"Peck, Chrissakes, it hasn't even been a year," Minaur reminded skeptically.

"Exactly," Peck countered. "We don't know how long a successful gestation would take, and our friend here wouldn't have poked around this facility without at least some useful connections." He watched his superior's expectant stare before continuing, "Ellsworth's 'supermen' were always in the works, usually aborted before they were fully gestated. He'd cut them off like he knew what was in store and then he'd start a new one with no backup." He paused to realize a tangible comparison. "It's like…" his mind raced to form one aloud, "it's like he was a writer who crumpled up a page every time he made a new sentence."

"We can look at epigenetic changes in viruses and single cells in real time." Minaur answered. "But most multicellulars take too long. I don't know what Ellsworth saw, or even _thought _he saw in those embryos before he pulled the plug. Even good old fashioned eugenics requires a thorough observation of the adult form before desirable traits are separated from the others. Maybe that's how Ellsworth thought he was going to get there," Minaur speculated," by compressing time based off of looking at some superficial changes." He rolled his eyes again at the notion. "Anyway, I had some idea of what he was up to, and as frivolous as it looked , I put up with because of his massive leaps with his other work."

"So," Peck asked timidly, "no one here besides Ellsworth has tried to grow his multicelluars?"

"No," Minaur replied almost admittedly. "If it wasn't purged, it probably wasn't checked for vitals, either. But why the hell would this guy steal something so ..esoteric? He came in here with a purpose, why didn't he go for something more practical?"

"Maybe that was his intent," Peck shrugged.

Minaur frowned. Peck had an annoying habit of making something so fucking ridiculous sound plausible. It was too bad he was in security intelligence. If he had worked alongside Ellsworth, there would probably be an entirely different inventory for their clientele. "Okay, fine," he gave a conceded growl . "You have my blessing to keep watching this, and whatever comes up on this casino joker and his munchkin, in the mean time, get the hell out, I have a client coming in now," he dismissed Peck with a harsh wave.

-.000**++/-

And there are our antagonists. I wanted Ellsworth to be a Nikola Tesla version of Jack Horner, the paleontologist who inspired _Jurassic Park_ and is looking to reverse engineer chickens into dinosaurs. Well, a fantasy Nikola Tesla anyway.

With Horner's dinosaurs, a characteristic feature like a tail would be turned 'on' in a genome, meaning it would have to preexist ancestrally in a tailless organism.

With Ellsworth, he'd have to have some supernatural knowledge of Floyd's genome, and know which genes produced what characteristics, abilities and attributes. (Supernatural especially in 1989-1990) I figure he would draw up X amount of mutations for each 'generation', and accumulate them over time. Yes, I know Peck said that he 'didn't serialize', but Ellsworth was destroying previous models (maybe keeping with the cold efficiencies of eugenics or natural selection?), so from an inventory standpoint, there was no 'series' to fall back on.

I really don't know if any genetic research outfit (legal or otherwise) would let this kind of recklessness go unnoticed, let alone tolerate it. (Imagine the cost.)But for the story, Floyd has to be unique, and Gru and Nefario have to have exclusive 'rights' to his genetic legacy, the minions.

Yes, Nefario will have to pull an extraordinary card out of his ass to randomize Floyd clones, but _Despicable Me_ isn't exactly science fiction. I'm still neurotic about immortal minions, tho.

Here's an old article on Hornersaurs:

magazine/2011/09/ff_chickensaurus/

So far this was the hardest chapter for me to write, so don't be stingy with the feedback, 'Kay?


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